The Call of Bravery

CHAPTER TWELVE



CONALL CROUCHED BEHIND a thin screen of blackberries. He was only a few feet on Lia’s side of the barbed wire fence that separated her acreage from the neighbor’s. Niall crouched beside him, Glock in his hand. Seeing it, Conall had noted the irony that he and his brother had chosen the exact same serve weapon.

Duncan and one of his men, a detective named Sean, were elsewhere along the perimeter, also armed and prepared to move. Conall’s intense focus was split between the utility truck bumping along the gravel road, raising a cloud of dust, and the house that lay a few hundred yards across rough pasture. The dogs had given some deep-throated warning barks but were now silent as they raced for the head of the driveway to meet the truck.

“Good thing neither of them wandered this way,” Niall muttered.

Conall grunted. He carried a stun gun, not his usual weapon of choice, but he was reluctant to kill the damn dogs if he didn’t have to. They were only doing their job.

As the truck rumbled up to the house, the front door opened and a man emerged. The older of the two, Joseph Cufley had thin, graying hair and a body that was going soft. Through his binoculars, Conall tried to tell if he was armed. Henderson parked, then rolled down his window.

His voice came through loud and clear. Good. Wires had been known to fail.

“The dogs gonna bite me?”

“Rufus, Jinx, heel. Sit,” Cufley snapped.

The two Dobermans obeyed, but their cropped ears were sharp and their eyes stayed unwaveringly on the intruder.

After displaying understandable hesitancy, Henderson opened his door and got out. “Glad you were home,” he said, sounding a little nervous. “PUD. Here to read your meter.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

They already knew the meter was on the south side of the house, right beneath the dining room window. It would be natural with the kind of weather they were having for the residents to leave that window open some of the time. Maybe to have some unwary conversations over their pizza or frozen lasagna. Perfect place for a bug.

Primed, Jeff nodded and started around the house. To Conall’s dismay, Cufley followed close behind, the dogs with him.

Niall was swearing softly. Conall lost Henderson visually, but knew Duncan would have picked him up. Jeff was doing a hell of a job, somewhat to Conall’s surprise, chatting about the run of sunshine and how those were mighty good looking dogs. “Do you breed Dobermans?” he asked, real friendly but still maybe a little nervous. Who wouldn’t be?

The pause was distinct. “No, these are both male.” The answer sounded reluctant and not very friendly.

A metallic sound. Jeff had opened the box on the side of the house, Conall guessed. Shit. Was there any way he could plant a listening device right under Cufley’s nose? Were these survivalists sophisticated enough to check for a bug after the supposed meter reader had left? Conall’s gut was saying, Don’t do it. Bail. Unless Henderson had a chance on the way to the truck to drop it somewhere else. Too bad there were no foundation plantings.

Conall waited, tense. A moment later, the conversation resumed. Jeff reappeared, Cufley breathing down his neck. There wasn’t a damn thing Henderson could do but say, “Have a good day,” and leap into the truck. He backed out, turned around and drove away, the dogs racing behind until the boundary of the property.

Conall and Niall were already melting away. The last thing they needed now was for one of the dogs to catch their scent.

Jeff had already turned down Lia’s driveway, as would be expected. Conall broke into a trot. Jeff was waiting for them when they ducked between the fence rails. He shook his head.

“Not a prayer.”

“Shit.”

“You think I should have—”

“No. He was suspicious. You did the right thing.”

The real meter reader, wide-eyed at the excitement, reclaimed her truck and departed. The men stayed where they were, by Duncan’s now not-so-shiny SUV.

“You think he’s afraid they’re being watched?” Niall suggested.

“In a general way, yeah,” Conall said. “Specifically, no. Our neighbor’s whole worldview is paranoid. He hates and fears anyone even slightly different from him. Government protects minorities, which means it’s out to get him. Public utility districts are government entities, right?”

“So why didn’t we send in a pizza delivery instead?” Duncan asked behind him.

“Because it turns out our guys always pick up their pizza. Seems they don’t want anyone knocking on their door. What’s more, they buy randomly from different pizza places, or frozen from the grocery store.”

Duncan snorted. “Because variety is the spice of life?”

Conall cracked a smile despite his frustration. “I seriously doubt it. It’s probably more paranoia in action. Maybe Cufley thinks too much of the same brand will eat up his stomach lining.”

The other men chuckled. Conall sighed and held out a hand to Duncan. “Thanks for backing us up.”

“No problem.” They shook and then he clapped Conall on the shoulder.

Niall did the same, and Sean nodded. They drove away, leaving Niall and Jeff to walk into the house where the boys and Lia lay in wait.

“Did it work?” Brendan asked eagerly.

Jeff looked startled at how well-informed the kids were. Conall was momentarily disconcerted by how utterly he’d violated standard operating procedure where they were concerned. But he still couldn’t see the harm, and said, “No. One of the guys stuck to Jeff like stink on— Er, like glue.”

They both cackled, knowing what he’d almost said. Lia rolled her eyes upward. Boys, her expression said. Men, she might as well have said. Conall knew plenty of adult males who still found bodily odors and human excrement to be the foundation of all humor.

“Now what?” Lia asked worriedly.

“Don’t know.”

“Tomorrow is garbage day,” she reminded him.

The boys both stared at him. “You go through their garbage?”

“Fascinating stuff, garbage,” he told them, steering both of them toward the kitchen with a hand on each of their shoulders. “You know archaeologists are especially fond of garbage, too. Nothing they like better than discovering an ancient dump.”

Walker didn’t look as if he knew what an archaeologist was, but Brendan’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, but that’s really old garbage. It doesn’t smell.”

“A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.”

Henderson had an air of bewilderment as he excused himself to go upstairs. Conall had come to the conclusion that the other DEA agent lacked any sense of humor. He was an awfully earnest guy. It didn’t bode well for his tolerance of his own kids’ screw-ups and foibles, but maybe they were earnest, too. Stood to reason.

He grabbed a cola from the fridge and let Lia debate what the boys could and couldn’t have. He drained the drink in a few long swallows. He was beginning to think he was going to have to drug or use the stun gun on the pair of Dobermans so he could sneak close to the house. He hadn’t wanted to do that since he wasn’t sure how often the men checked on the dogs during the night. If they discovered them unconscious or even groggy, secrecy would be a thing of the past. But this couldn’t keep dragging on, either. He needed it to be over, before—

Conall didn’t let himself finish the thought. He’d long since learned not to dwell on possible risks and wasn’t going to make an exception for a risk that wasn’t physical.

Lia finally produced homemade oatmeal raisin cookies all around, and he fell on them with as much enthusiasm as the boys did. She watched in amusement. “They’re skinny. You look well fed.”

He grinned at her, making her cheeks become tinged with pink at the unspoken reminder that she knew every contour of his body. “I usually only get store-bought cookies.” He patted his belly. “I’ll bet I’ve put on ten pounds since I came to stay here.”

She made a scoffing sound accompanied by Walker’s and Brendan’s laughter.

“You’re not fat,” Walker said. “You have to run lots to keep up with us.”

“You do keep me hopping.” He smiled at them, thinking about how long it had been since he’d gotten any real exercise. He didn’t want to make himself visible by running daily, as he did whenever his job allowed it, and Lia didn’t have a treadmill or exercise bike or weights. She kept slim by caring for house, children, garden and animals instead.

He went out and kicked the soccer ball with the boys for an hour, then elicited their help in doing some work on the barn he’d had in mind. Lia provided gloves for all—she had kid-size ones for her garden. Conall put in some nails to hang yard tools, then laid out smaller tools to determine how large a peg board they’d need. Finally he took the boys with him to the hardware store. Lia kept offering to pay any costs, and he stared her down.

He purchased peg board and hooks as well as lumber and brackets to put up shelves. For once he worked up a good sweat by the time he had to go in and shower before relieving Jeff.

Conall was a little surprised when he emerged from the bathroom to find Brendan lurking in the hall.

“I wish you were having dinner with us,” the older boy said.

Conall smiled crookedly. “Me, too.”

Brendan shifted from foot to foot. “You really, really need to hear what those guys are talking about, don’t you?”

“We’ll figure out a way to do that. That’s what I get paid to do.”

“Do you think they have guns?”

Yeah. He was pretty sure the neighbors had enough guns for a small army, but he wasn’t going to say that.

“You afraid they’re going to shoot me?”

The kid hung his head and shrugged.

Conall ruffled his hair. “Better men than them have tried. You haven’t seen any holes in me, have you?”

Actually, he’d had a few, the ugliest of which had been in his groin and another that left a long scar on his thigh. Lia had discovered both—traced them with featherlight fingertips followed by soft brushes of her lips and moist breath. Who knew having a woman inspect his battle scars could be so erotic?

“No-o. Has anyone ever shot at you?”

“Yeah, but most people aren’t very good shots. Especially when the target is moving.”

Brendan frowned as if concentrating hard and nodded. “So you run really fast, right? And zigzag, like they do on TV?”

Conall laughed. “Something like that. Listen, I need to work, and don’t I hear Lia calling you?”

Looking sulky, the ten-year-old said, “How come Jeff doesn’t eat upstairs every night? He hardly talks to us anyway.”

Conall hid this smile. “I promised I’d let him out of the attic every other day. Otherwise he could sue because the living conditions are inhumane.” Pretending to worry, he said, “Maybe every other day isn’t enough, though. Do you think he’s forgetting how to talk? His wife won’t like that when I send him home.”

Brendan eyed him. “You’re joking, right?”

On another laugh, Conall headed for the attic door. “I’m joking.”

For once, it was Lia who knocked half an hour later to hand over his dinner tray, allowing him to steal a lingering kiss and cop a feel that left him aroused with no way to get relief until three in the morning or so.

Well, hell. Anticipation was supposed to be half the fun, wasn’t it? He grimaced. He’d rather have made love with her now and later. But he guessed in a houseful of kids that wouldn’t have happened anyway. He couldn’t blame the job for this particular frustration, uncomfortable though it was.

It felt like a miracle to him that she was awake and waiting eagerly for him every night when he slipped into her room. He had yet to catch her by surprise. Her arms always closed around him with fierce pleasure when he got into bed with her.

Tonight he growled, “God, I need you,” before taking her mouth with ravenous hunger. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind the entire time he kept restless, irritable watch from the window. Ten hours of his body aching for hers.

Lia kissed him as passionately and gripped the nape of his neck with one strong hand while the other explored the contours of his back. He loved the feel of her fingers sinking into his hair, and he loved having to search beneath the curtain of hers for her breasts and belly. She’d taken to leaving her luxuriant hair loose when she went to bed, knowing the first thing he’d do anyway was free it from the braid.

At one point he tore his mouth from hers to say, “I want to make love to you in the daytime. I want to see sunlight across your body. The way your eyes must change color when you get excited. I want—” He groaned when her hand encircled him. He finished in a rough whisper, “I want everything.”

She didn’t ask what his everything comprised. He couldn’t have told her, only that he had begun to resent the fact that he couldn’t touch her most of the time, not the way he wanted to. Coming to her in the middle of the night like this had begun to feel furtive. He didn’t know why it mattered, but it did.

“I’d like to see you, too,” she murmured. “But you know we can’t. The kids—”

Much as he liked the kids, he wasn’t in any mood to think about them. He licked her nipple instead and then drew it into his mouth to suckle. Her hips rose in involuntary response and she apparently lost interest in talking, too. But for one gasp of surprise, a few moans and one keening cry he had to swallow with a hasty, open-mouthed kiss, tonight’s lovemaking was silent after that. Silent but shockingly intense.

Conall was left winded, sated, stunned and apprehensive. How could it keep getting better? How could it be so good? What if it never was again, once their lives diverged?

He didn’t know if she was asleep or not when he left her. He only knew he had to get away, that it felt too sweet holding her like this with her head tucked on his shoulder as if it belonged, him inhaling her scent, feeling the cushion of her breast against his side, her breath washing over his chest, her warmth.

It was an addiction, that’s all. He’d always been wary of men who claimed they needed anything. But tonight…

Tonight he’d come frighteningly close to saying, I need everything.

* * *

LIA DIDN’T KNOW what was wrong, but Conall’s mood seemed to darken after that day. She couldn’t tell if that had anything to do with the change. He’d seemed relaxed enough afterward, certainly with the boys. When she took his dinner up to him, he was sexy and playful. But when he came to her during the night, she felt his tension. A couple of times, he lost some of the care with which he usually touched her. It was almost as if he was angry, whether at her or something else she didn’t know.

It wasn’t only a bad mood, because it lasted. He still spent time with the boys, but was more abrupt with them. Less inclined to talk to Lia. He came to her bed every night, but didn’t talk at all and silenced her with his mouth when she tried. The cuddle after lovemaking was brief and seemed almost reluctant, as if he longed to be gone. She could feel his muscles taut with the desire to get away.

On day three of his emotional withdrawal, Lia braced herself to talk to him. Not for her sake, she told herself, but for the boys’. She found her moment when he came into the kitchen alone to grab a drink.

“Something’s going on with you,” she said directly. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh?” Conall turned from the refrigerator. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve changed.”

His face was devoid of any expression. “I’m doing a job. It’s past time I paid a little more attention to it.”

“And we’re not part of the job.” Chilled, she began snapping green beans into a bowl, her head bent so she didn’t have to look at him again. Humiliation crept over her. She sounded like an outraged wife. No, not outraged—whiny.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about. The boys have been helping me finish up in the barn.” His voice softened. “You should come and see what we’ve done. They feel good about it.”

“Later,” she managed to say. “Or I’ll go out in the morning.”

He stepped close to her, close enough she could feel the heat of his body, and said huskily, “Lia…”

She moved aside, evading his hand, pretending she had to run water into a pan. “Let me get dinner on,” she said, in some approximation of a normal voice.

There was silence. Finally he left, and she heard the front door open and close a moment later.

Of course he came to her room that night, and of course she could no more resist his lips and his touch and his body than ever. But afterward she lay rigid beside him, not relaxing against him as she’d been doing, and he didn’t draw her close, either. Instead, after barely a couple of minutes, he rolled toward her, brushed a gentle kiss on her forehead, murmured, “Sleep tight,” and left as silently as he’d come.

* * *

HE SPENT A GOOD DEAL of the next day up in the attic with Jeff, leaving the boys to their own devices, which meant they followed Lia around and kept saying, “I’m bored.” She offered to kick the soccer ball with them, and Brendan mumbled, “You’re not very good at it.” Finally Lia saddled the horse and pony, something she didn’t do very often, and gave the boys a riding lesson. Afterward they were happy to help her comb out tangled manes and tails and learn to brush in the direction the animal’s hair lay. She showed them how to check hooves for stones and clean out packed mud and manure, and they were all sweaty and horsey smelling by the time they went in, which meant taking turns in the shower.

She told herself she was relieved that tonight was Jeff’s turn to join them for dinner. Brendan took Conall’s meal up to him and came back more quickly than usual, his shoulders hunched. He stayed quiet at the table, Lia watching him covertly.

What a jerk, she fumed. Conall must have been brusque with him. Hurt my feelings, she thought, fine. But not the boys’.

Not until after dinner, when Sorrel disappeared upstairs to spend time on the computer and Walker and Brendan decided to watch TV, did Lia have time to brood.

What had changed? She couldn’t figure it out.

The boys were upstairs getting ready for bed and Lia was rinsing plates and loading the dishwasher when she thought again about the way Conall was all but leaping out of her bed the minute he was done with her these past few nights. With an icy tingle, she remembered thinking, As if he longed to be gone.

Yes, that was it exactly. And it wasn’t only the sex. It was everything. He’d had fun here for a while, but he wasn’t anymore. Conall was ready to wind this operation up and move on to one that was more exciting. One that might give him a real shot of adrenaline.

She had gone completely still, scarcely conscious of the hot water pouring over her hands. The most awful pain tore through her, a brushfire that seared and blackened all of her as it burned. A small sound escaped her, quiet but raw.

She’d been fooling herself all along. He was using them as a diversion. The boys filled his idle afternoon hours, and she met his sexual needs. Full stop.

Lia felt cheap suddenly, no better than Sorrel probably had after some dirty old man had let her out of his car. Angry at herself, too, because she couldn’t even blame Conall. He’d never been anything but honest. He’d wanted to avoid case of terminal boredom while he was here, and she’d offered herself up because…oh, because she was lonely and probably starved for sex or maybe only for tenderness and the illusion that somebody actually loved her.

And because she could love him.

Because I do love him.

In her shame, she wondered if she really knew him at all. She’d speculated once that he was someone different depending on his assignment, but had come to believe that here, he was the real Conall. On no evidence whatsoever.

She was dry-eyed, thank God. Devastated, but too angry to cry. Yes, he was remarkable with the boys and even with Sorrel. He must have a gift for seeing what each person needed then meeting it. The grief-stricken boys. The confused teenage girl. And Lia herself, who tried to make a family out of children who never stayed long enough to really love her.

“I’m pathetic,” she whispered to her reflection in the steamy kitchen window. With jerky movements she turned off the water, dried her hands then got the dishwasher running.

Tired and lonelier than she’d ever been in her life, she went upstairs to tuck the kids in. It was a huge relief to escape outside. She sat for a very long time on the porch steps in the dark.

Finally, when she went to bed she did something she hadn’t in years—she closed her door and hoped Conall got the message.

* * *

CONALL KNEW HE SHOULD have talked to Lia today. He’d been curt with everyone. Grumpy. Of course she’d noticed. What had he expected?

The trouble was, he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell her how confused he was, how close to panic. He couldn’t admit to her how vulnerable he felt, or how much that threw him back to a time he hated to remember, when he was a kid and still let himself get hurt.

No, it was better that he hadn’t tried to explain anything to Lia. Whatever he was feeling, he’d get over it. He’d be more careful with her, that’s all. He was usually good at hiding what he felt.

For some damn reason, Henderson was snoring tonight. A couple of times Conall actually stalked across the attic to the bed and heaved his partner to his side to shut him up. Usually he could tune out irrelevant noises, but tonight he was on edge. That panic made him jittery, as if he’d had too much caffeine. Nerves shivering beneath the skin.

Everything would be fine tomorrow. Back to normal. There was no reason he couldn’t enjoy the rest of his time here.

With an effort of will, he calmed down. Felt the tension leach from his muscles. He started thinking about Lia without the anxiety. He began to count down the minutes until he could get into bed with her. Right now, kissing her was the reassurance he wanted. What kind of idiot was he to develop a case of the cold sweats because the sex with her was too good? He grunted at the stupidity of that.

Henderson slept later than usual. About every five minutes, Conall debated whether he should wake him up. But Henderson was getting the short end of the stick with this operation, and the least Conall could do was let the poor bastard sleep.

It was 3:43 when Jeff stumbled out of bed, muttered something about pissing, and went downstairs. He didn’t always go down; the guy had a hell of a bladder, but this time he must have gone all the way to the kitchen, because he came back with a glass of juice and a big whopping slice of the carrot cake Lia had baked yesterday.

“Go to bed,” he said around a bite, and Conall went. Jeff moved more like Big Foot than an undercover agent. Lia would be awake for sure.

The hall was so dark he didn’t notice her door until he reached the bathroom and turned on the light. Then he glanced back and saw four closed bedroom doors.

He stood stock-still, suddenly sick to his stomach.

Lia had closed it by accident. She must be awake; pretty soon she’d notice that she was seeing only a faint band of light beneath the door. By the time he came out, she would have opened her door.

Conall brushed his teeth, used the toilet, then hesitated before reaching for the knob. She’d be waiting for him. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Maybe more, he told himself, trying to feel cocky instead of shaky.

He opened the door and looked down the hall to see…hers still closed. After a moment he shut off the light and walked toward his bedroom, maybe a little less quietly than usual. Thinking…he didn’t know what. His feet stopped at her door the way they always did. His lips formed her name. It was a long time before he forced himself to continue to his own room.